Rituals
by GiorgiaKerr
Summary: He blushed simply because Danny’s expression made him feel like he should; like there was something more that Danny wasn’t saying." D/M oneshot. Pure fluff.


**Spoilers:** Pfft.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, yadda, yadda, yadda.

**Author's Note:** Sorry, been a slack updater! _Caffeinating_ will be updated soon, too! Promise.

* * *

Danny wandered into the office, happy to start a shift at a time that was normal people who weren't him. He hadn't been called in at three in the morning – again – and had had upwards of five hours sleep last night, which put him in the realm of awake _and_ happy. Two things that didn't really go together much in his world.

Tossing his backpack under his desk, he glanced around the bullpen, saying hello to its only other occupant.

"Hey, Viv," he called. Vivian glanced up at him from whatever it was she was doing and gave him her _good morning, I'm actually happy to see you today_ smile. He chuckled a little at that as another thought hit him. "Martin here?" he asked casually.

Martin was _always_ in before everyone else, even when they were called in at some ungodly hour of the morning, but today, Danny hadn't seen him.

Vivian's eyes flickered with something that very closely resembled amusement. All she said, however, was, "Break room."

As the words left her mouth, Martin himself appeared; coffee mug and chocolate bar in hand. Danny bit back a comment on the choice of breakfast, instead looking Martin up and down, as he was wont to do every morning that they actually spent in the office. It had started when Martin had joined the MPU. Right off the bat, so to speak.

Danny had always enjoyed needling; been damn good at it, too. Picking apart people he didn't like piece by – in Martin's case – unfashionable piece. The clothes he wore on a daily basis were more than enough cause for amusement and hence mockery.

The first few times, Martin had gotten defensive, angry, claiming that FBI pay was lacking; he had better things to do with his money; Danny should focus on his job rather than Martin. Which, he had to admit, was entirely too true.

Not that he ever told Martin that.

Making the newbie uncomfortable was as much a game as it was an exercise in sadism. It was fun, watching Marin squirm, blush, mumble something almost incoherent before turning back to work. It was _satisfying_, really.

However, Martin was smart, quicker on the uptake than he seemed, and after deciding all too soon that defensiveness wasn't working, he started ignoring Danny's jabs at his dress habits. Well, pretended to ignore, because there was always the hint of a blush on Martin's cheeks; the slight tightening of his lips and eyes that let him know Martin had heard. Heard and reacted.

And so the game remained satisfying.

He'd continued insulting his colleague's fashion sense – or what was left of it – almost every morning. A ritual like brushing his teeth.

Then Danny realized that he actually kind of respected Martin. Maybe even liked him; which made the game less fun. It occurred to him one day that Martin had never made fun of him. Not once. He'd responded to Danny's teasing in kind, but never had he insulted him unnecessarily. Even when Danny had admitted his fear of flying, Martin hadn't blinked, just smiled and assured him that it was perfectly safe.

After their oh-so-enjoyable trip to California, Danny's jabs turned into more of an elementary school teasing. All words and no feeling; said simply to be said, rather than to hurt. And, to Martin's credit and Danny's relief, Martin seemed to notice the change. He stopped taking offence, and started rolling his eyes at Danny.

Danny liked that change. But his favourite thing was that Martin had never ceased to blush at his comments.

Which is why, as Martin wandered to his desk, coffee in hand, Danny caught his attention.

"Peach, Fitz?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

And there was that blush.

* * *

Martin fought the urge to whistle as he watched the coffee machine drip almost painfully slowly. As annoying as that machine was, he was in a fairly good mood. He'd had enough time to not only sleep last night, but swim this morning, and that left him feeling more relaxed than he had in days. Quite possibly weeks.

He smiled as he realized that despite his swim earlier, he had still been first to the office. Which was fine by him, though the habit of being early was sometimes irritating beyond belief. But usually it was a good thing. Great, even. He got to let the remnants of sleep evade him in an environment more comfortable to him than his own home; he got to make the first pot of coffee, precisely to his liking; got to prepare things, usually his thoughts, for the day; got to feel the calm before the storm.

Glancing at the snail of a coffee pot again, he smiled a little to see that it was full. Well, full enough for a few cups. Walking over to the vending machine, he smacked it in just the right place, earning himself a chocolate bar for his efforts. He smiled; there were very few times in his life in which Martin had ever cheated or been generally dishonest, and this was one of them.

The break room vending machine. He knew he was probably the only one who used the damned thing enough to _know_ – even without looking – just where to hit it. Which he found both amusing and pathetic. He knew Danny would be in conniptions if he knew about that.

And that was another reason to be early; Martin wasn't sure if he could cope with Danny's constant mockery first thing every morning. He knew that Danny did it all in jest – and to a point, he found it rather amusing – but the way Danny _looked _at him when he was teasing…

The way his eyes drifted over Martin shamelessly, the way he leaned back in his chair considering. And that goddamned smirk. When he'd started at MPU, Martin had wanted to smack Danny for that. Hard. Then, one day, he found himself fighting the urge to _kiss_ that smirk right off Danny's face. And it had all been downhill from there; everything frustrating and incredibly masochistic. Masochistic because wanting something he couldn't have – wanting something that he didn't _want_ to want – really was not healthy.

Every morning they were at work, Danny would subject him to that. And every time, without fail, Martin would feel his face heat up. Originally out of anger then out of embarrassment, he had recently found that he blushed simply because Danny's expression made him feel like he should; like there was something more that Danny wasn't saying.

Which, when he let himself think about it, was probably the case. It usually was with Danny.

Taking a deep – and unfortunately not cleansing – breath, Martin grabbed the coffee that he'd almost subconsciously prepared, and headed out into the bullpen. He deliberately didn't look at Danny as he moved, but he still heard him.

"Peach, Fitz?" he heard as he crossed to his desk.

And here was that blush.

* * *

All morning, Danny had been shooting skeptical looks at Martin; and Martin was beginning to get incredibly distracted. He squirmed in his chair as he felt Danny's eyes on him again, hunching his shoulders as if against cold. Any other day, Martin probably wouldn't have noticed, too caught up in work.

But today was slow. Vivian and Samantha had been sent out to check a few leads on a missing seventeen-year-old boy, who in all probability really didn't _want_ to be found. And he and Danny – of course – were at the office, waiting for them to call with any news. Or, more likely, no news.

He signed yet another document, adding it to the pile of completed paperwork, and picked up the next one he had to fill out.

And again, there were Danny's eyes. Martin could _feel_ them watching him; it made him progressively more uncomfortable. It wasn't so much that someone was staring at him – though that wasn't his favourite thing, either – it was that it was Danny, and that he didn't quite know _why_.

He had a feeling it had something to do with the shirt, which irritated him only a little – it wasn't like he didn't _know_ how he dressed – but he had a feeling it was more than that. It wasn't Danny trying to poke fun at him, as hard as that was to believe. He knew that if he turned around to meet Danny's eyes now, he would see a lot more than he cared to. Probably a lot more than Danny cared for him to.

Danny was an expert at hiding his emotions, but only when he was conscious of it. He would steel himself when he knew he was being watched, or when he knew there was something to hide. Whenever talk of his family came up, there was always a flash of grief before he became emotionless and detached.

For him, it was quite the reverse. Martin knew that he was much better at it; it was natural for him. He had to consciously _show_ his emotion because hiding it was innate. He knew this because even Danny, better than anyone he'd ever known at reading people, still had to ask what was wrong. Of course, the fact that he knew there was, in fact, something wrong, said a lot, but he never knew _what_ unless Martin wanted him to.

It was the tiny modicum of control Martin maintained in their relationship - Martin knew how much Danny relied on his ability to read people. It was his job, after all.

Unfortunately, Martin's ability to read people was another thing that had to be consciously turned on, because Danny was suddenly standing next to him, close enough to look like a private conversationalist, but far enough away to look professional. Martin fought – unsuccessfully – another blush, both at having been snuck-up on, and at having Danny stand close enough to smell.

He raised a deliberate eyebrow, despite his discomfort, and looked up at Danny expectantly. Danny's smirk grew into a grin as he tugged distastefully at the sleeve of Martin's shirt.

"This really should not have left the wardrobe, Martin," he said, almost wincing, as he leaned against Martin's desk casually. Martin's eyebrow remained raised. Why was he bringing this up? This was their _morning_ thing; it was never even mentioned throughout the day.

"Don't you have some work to be doing, Danny?" he asked sweetly, though a hint of annoyance seeped into his voice. Danny continued to smile and leaned in a little closer. When he spoke, it was as if Martin had never said anything.

"You're going to have to take this off," he told Martin.

Martin just about fell off his seat. That was _not_ what he had been expecting. He briefly wondered if he'd fallen asleep at his desk, deciding that that made more sense than this actually _happening_. Martin had only ever heard that tone of voice in dreams. Dreams that almost always ended the same way.

A way that really wasn't appropriate for the office. Or for his relationship with Danny.

Though, that was something that might currently be disputed.

Realizing that he hadn't responded, and that Danny was looking at him rather keenly, he made sure his mask hadn't slipped. It had, but only slightly, so despite the blush covering his cheeks, he looked at Danny with an indifferent expression.

"Oh yeah? And why's what?" he asked. Danny's smirk flickered a little brighter at that, and Martin was pretty sure his expression wasn't as indifferent as he had thought. Danny leaned in just a little closer, and Martin could feel his breath as he spoke.

"_Porque es feo_, Martin."

And despite the fact that Martin was pretty sure Danny was insulting him, that was possibly the sexiest thing he'd ever heard. Martin struggled not to let it show, instead deciding to play at Danny's game a little.

"What are you, too afraid to insult me in English?" he challenged. Danny's eyes flickered with something like surprise, and Martin felt a swell of pride. However, he realized too late, he'd played very much into Danny's hands. Danny would undoubtedly take that as a challenge.

"Fitz." There was innuendo as good as seeping out of him. "Who said I was insulting you?"

* * *

The surprise in Martin's expression was enough to make Danny smirk a little more. He hadn't quite intended things to go this far. He had considered it – _many_ times – but it was never actually a feasible possibility. Until now. If he was honest, he couldn't quite say how they ended up like this. How _he_ ended up like this, really, because Martin had barely moved an inch.

It was rather amusing to just watch Martin being uncomfortable. But the best part was the way he looked at Danny when he was confused. Or angry, or amused, or considering. He always knew he had all of Martin's attention when he was like this: in his personal space, flirting quite blatantly.

And he knew it was as close as he was going to get to what he really wanted, so he figured he may as well enjoy it while he could.

So he did.

"Fitz," he said softly, knowing that Martin was either on the verge of hitting him or on the verge of kissing him. "Who said I was insulting you?"

He didn't know which option would have been the better one. He knew which he would have _preferred_, but that didn't really mean anything.

Danny's preferences had a tendency to be the erroneous ones.

Martin's face reddened again, and Danny only just managed to keep from doing something incredibly inappropriate as he watched another blush spread under the collar of Martin's shirt. Which brought him back to that hideous thing that had started this… conversation?

"You know," he started as Martin fought a silent internal battle of some sort, "for someone who blushes so much, peach really isn't the best way to go."

Martin looked at him and raised an eyebrow. If Danny hadn't known him so well, he'd have legitimately thought that Martin was perfectly comfortable. But he did know Martin as well as he did; and that made this game all the more fun.

Just as Danny was about to deliver another blow, Vivian burst through the doors of the bullpen, followed closely by a stony-looking Samantha. Both men looked to them almost guiltily.

Vivian smiled apologetically at them. "Looks like we have a case, after all," she said, moving to the whiteboard with determination. Samantha immediately went to her desk and picked up the phone.

Looking down at Martin, Danny smirked. He looked almost relieved. Danny didn't need to ask why. But it wasn't going to be that easy; not if Danny could help it.

He spun Martin's chair so that he was facing him again, a little closer this time. He put all of his allure into his final jab; Martin's barely-veiled anxiety was enough encouragement. He smirked again.

"I'm getting you out of that shirt one way or another, Fitz," he told him matter-of-factly.

He didn't wait to watch the blush he knew was covering Martin's cheeks as he stalked cockily back to his desk.

Maybe this time, Martin would catch on.

* * *

English Translation:

_Porque es feo_ - Because it's ugly

Poor Martin _was_ being insulted…

Review?


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